The past had a funny way of catching up with you.

Jey Uso had spent years running—running from his family's expectations, from the weight of his own mistakes, from the ghosts of what could have been. He had convinced himself that moving forward meant never looking back. But standing in front of him now, with the same fire in her eyes and that familiar way she crossed her arms when she was holding back too much, was living proof that the past didn't just disappear. It found you. It made you face it.

Natalia Rivera.

She hadn't aged a day in his eyes. Maybe her curls were a little shorter, maybe the softness in her face had hardened with time, but she was still Nati. His Nati. The girl he loved before the world got too loud, before his name meant something more than just a kid with a dream.

But it wasn't just her standing in front of him. It was the little boy clutching her hand.

Jey's stomach twisted. He didn't know much about kids, but even he couldn't deny it—the boy had his eyes. His features. His blood.

"Nati..." His voice came out rough, uncertain, like he already knew the answer but couldn't bring himself to say it.

She exhaled slowly, like she had been holding this in for years. Maybe she had.

"Jey," she said, her voice steady. "Meet your son."